What to do when appliances go on strike

My home appliances are in full revolt and from the looks of things they’re winning.

The digital clock on my coffee maker blinks at me Cheshire cat-like, brewing nothing but my resentment as it spits out a small dribble of half-coffee/half water then shuts itself off saying try again later when the results are likely to be worse.

After decades of loyal service, my stove simply goes “pop” when I turn it on, as if it is Bartleby the Scrivener of the Melville story saying he’d rather not. The microwave in sympathy refuses to defrost saying take me as I am or not at all, and burning my popcorn to a cinder to show it’s not fooling around. The dishwasher suddenly becomes tired of washing and decides it would rather try life as a swimming pool in eternal rinse.

And the revolution, like some Arab Spring of gadgetry is spreading. The sewer disposal gags and then gulps as if the next swallow could be its last. The ice maker chortles as it spits out half-formed cubes that dissolve at a touch, creating a new form of ice water previously thought to exist only in the atmosphere of Jupiter.

Only the toaster, a survivor of the last century and relegated to a corner of the kitchen where old appliances go to die, remains loyal as if to say, “OK, old man we’re in this together.”

I look at the so-called labor-saving devices that have invaded my home and tote up the hours of waiting and days of labor at hourly rates that would make a surgeon blush. Should I fall for the line that no one repairs anything anymore and it would be cheaper to just get a new one?

What to do, I say to my toaster, putting aside the notion that talking to a toaster might seem odd in some circles. And then as if to taunt me the coffee maker comes to life, or more properly half life spitting out a half-full cup of grounds and seeing if that would keep me satisfied.

I tell my toaster, since it is the only one interested, that modern appliances never die, they just go off line. When his father gave up the toast, I say nostalgically, he was truly gone. No amount of shaking, cajoling or wishing would bring him back to toaster life. But modern day appliances are often not all dead, just mostly dead and hence can come back from the dead by the unlikely ritual of simply turning them off and then trying again and waiting.

Or not, presenting an existential dilemma worthy of Godot. You just never really know if the next moment will bring appliance resurrection. The thought of calling a repair man (good luck on that) to come out and have him just turn it off and on (he’ll say reboot, which is what I feel like giving him when he hands me the bill) is just too much to take.

And so I wait trapped in the netherworld between rebooting and despair hoping – dare I say praying – that the next time I turn on the coffee maker it will deign to grant me a full cup for which I will be inappropriately and eternally grateful.

Ah, I say to my toaster who has never had so much conversation head its way, I pop bread into your jaws and you so loyally return me toast, day after day until one day you won’t and no amount of rebooting will bring you back.

Your end I promise will not go unnoticed nor unmourned. I will make a half-cup of coffee turn on the satellite radio which may or may not blink out and say, those were the days.

Meanwhile, I’ll try rebooting those other noncompliants.

Robert Chipkin is a production editor for The Republican; he may be reached at rchipkin@repub.com.